


Stunts and Flappers

by selahexanimo



Category: Leviathan - Scott Westerfeld
Genre: 1920s, Established Relationship, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:00:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1381633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selahexanimo/pseuds/selahexanimo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deryn goads Lilit into doing the Charleston on a stair railing. At least, that’s where this stunt is headed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stunts and Flappers

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr (find it [here](http://thequeenpatches.tumblr.com/post/74146471803/1-following-an-excellent-dinner-lilit-and-deryn-have)). Written for [thequeenpatches](http://thequeenpatches.tumblr.com/).

Following an excellent dinner, Lilit and Deryn have a night on the town. Lilit wants to see a play; Deryn wants to see American flappers dance on top of motorcars. “Do they really do that?” she asks, gleeful. “Dance on taxis and swim in fountains?” 

“I wouldn't know,” Lilit says. She's never seen a flapper dancing on a motorcar or swimming on public property, though she's heard rumors that involve writers and artists. 

Deryn groans. “Blisters, Lilit, do you live in New York or not? City's full of mad sights and you're telling me you've not seen one of them? Cripes. Remind me to find a proper tour guide next time.” She pulls a face; Lilit draws herself up. 

“Is entertainment the only reason you condescended to visit me, Mr. Sharp?” she asks, words dripping with indignation. “Is London truly so dull that you must abandon your employment and friends to seek excitement across the ocean?” 

Deryn smirks and seems upon the verge of agreeing that yes, this is exactly why she is in New York, but Lilit forestalls her. There are no conveniently situated fountains or parked cars in the vicinity, but there is a flight of steps, edged by an iron railing, leading up to someone's residence. “Hold this,” Lilit says and tosses her purse toward Deryn. She does not pause to see if Deryn actually catches it; she hoists herself up on the rail, high heels and all. The rail is steady, but her heels skid; she opens her arms, braces herself. 

“What in blazes are you doing?” Deryn cries, laughing eyes wide and gleaming. 

“Providing you with a measure of entertainment,” Lilit says. She lurches, and her belly swoops with the exhilaration of balancing on the iron rail as no self-respecting ambassador's assistant has ever done or shall ever do again. It is almost like being back in Istanbul, scaling walls and darting through the shadows, all danger, grace, and skill. But the eyes trained on her are different from those she was once used to, Zaven stifling his grin so he could critique her stance (even if he hid his not-quite smile badly, even if she could see the pride he felt for her). There is a kind of pride, too, in Deryn's eyes, but there is nothing innocent about it; she seems delighted that Lilit -- of all people -- can be so reckless on a night so clear, in the middle of New York City; she relishes Lilit's act; she smiles with a hunger that deep and wolfish, the kind of smile that makes Lilit tremble and her body ache with longing. 

Lilit lurches a second time and almost doesn't catch herself. “Shall I do the Charleston?” she asks, breezily, to cover up her lapse. 

By now, her stunt has drawn the notice of the passerby; people gawk and a girl, part of a group of girls all dressed for dancing, wobbling across the street in heels, beaded necklaces spilling out from beneath open coats, dresses glittering in the electric brilliance of the street, stops to call over her. “He ain't worth it, sister!” the girl yells. “He's cute, but he ain't worth whatever you're doing.” 

Lilit flourishes an arm and calls back, “I shall keep that in mind.” Then she peers down at Deryn and says, “Are you worth this sacrifice of my dignity, Mr. Sharp?” 

Deryn grins. She wedges Lilit's purse in the railing, then hops onto the rail across from Lilit. She moves like an airman -- light and brisk and powerful -- Lilit's stomach swoops again. The girls across the street yell; one of them shouts, “Hey! If you don't want him, sweetheart, I'll take him. That dreamboat moves like a cat!” 

And Lilit thinks, yes Deryn does; it's been years since Deryn served as a proper airman and yet she will never lose that bold, effortless elegance that made Lilit sit up and pay attention in the first place. Lilit's insides are doing all sorts of gymnastics; if she's not careful, she'll topple off the rail and give all creation a view of her underthings. 

“Is this entertaining enough for you, Mr. Sharp?” Lilit calls -- and then she must suppress a yelp, because Deryn jumps the gap between their railings and lands beside her. Lilit's arms pinwheel. Deryn grips her hand, just as Lilit starts to fall; Deryn jumps to the stairs, and Lilit is wrenched after her, twisting in mid-air, poised to smack bum first into the sidewalk. Except she doesn't; she falls against Deryn and her momentum sends them stumbling and bouncing between the rails like rubber balls. Deryn finds her balance just in time. 

They come to a hard halt, Deryn's back grazing the iron rail, and before Lilit can blink, Deryn kisses her. It is everything, this kiss: it is the thrill of balancing two feet above the concrete stairs in heels, lit by the hard lights of New York; it is Deryn's big, loose smile and glittering eyes; it is the deep, wolfish hunger that makes Lilit body curl with want. It is, in a word, the kind of kiss one does not give a girl in public. 

The girls across the street clap and whistle, and the same voice calls, “I mean it, if you don't want him.” Lilit and Deryn surface; Lilit shouts, “I'll keep him, thanks.” 

The girls laugh and head off; Deryn says, “I take back what I said before; this was a barking good reason to visit.” Lilit laughs and stretches up for another kiss; when they break apart for a second time, Deryn asks, “Are we going anywhere else?” 

“Back to my room and into my bed,” Lilit says. “Come along. Show's over.” 

Deryn tucks an arm about her waist. “Oh hardly.” She winks. “It's just starting.”


End file.
